Eastbound and Back, Day 17: France in North America, Part I

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May 15, 2024, St. Pierre, SPM- The little girl was proudly pushing her training-wheeled bicycle up the sidewalk of the waterfront park, confidently returning my greeting of “Bonjour”. Continuing my walk, my eyes cast about, for who the adult accompanying her might be, as even in this small town, on a Eurocentric island in the North Atlantic, there is a concern for safety. Not to worry- Maman called to her petite ange, who told her that she would not go onto the street. For good measure, Maman went up to her daughter and brought bicycle and child back into the park. Life on Ile St. Pierre thus proceeds as it does elsewhere in La Belle France, the major part of which lies a minimum of 3822 km/ 2375 mi. (Brest, Bretagne) to the east.

Bruce, the sole attendant these days, at Abbie’s Garden, named for his late first wife, wished aloud that he’d had a better sleep. Still, he put together a fine breakfast and wished me well, on my visit to St. Pierre and the rest of my journey. Then, he said he was going back to bed. I wish him well, and a speedy recovery from what seemed to ail him this morning.

The drive over to Fortune, and the ferry office, was no big deal, but I did have to ask where the ticket office was, as all signs point to the actual terminal. A kind Canadian customs officer steered me in the right direction, tickets were purchased, Sportage was safely parked in a secure lot up the road, I caught a shuttle back to the terminal, and an hour later, twenty-five of us were en route to the sole remnant of French North America, north of the Caribbean Sea.

My interest in St. Pierre & Miquelon is not so much in its being French, as in its existence as a mini-state of sorts-a North American Andorra, or Nauru. Much of the approach to SPM is standard: Bags are inspected, at the Canadian Border Station, in Fortune and again upon arrival in St. Pierre; passports are stamped, with the imprimatur of St. Pierre & Miquelon; a short, but winding, walkway leads out of the terminal.

My shuttle driver, Julie, was waiting, with a sign that had my name imprinted. There was a hearty “Bienvenu!”, and I thanked her, in my halting, tentative French (It’s been ten years since my visit to La Patrie and a brief passage through Quebec, in 2022, scarcely required much usage of La Langue Maternelle at all). Excuses aside, we agreed to toggle between our two languages, and indeed that seems to be the sentiment of everyone I encountered this afternoon.

Auberge Quatre Temps

After settling in, at Auberge Quatre Temps, I got my bearings from the complimentary map, then set out to check the downtown and waterfront areas. Centre Ville has the modest Cathedral de Sacre Coeur, a Prefectural Office and a City Hall (Hotel de Ville). There are several boulangeries and a few Patisseries (One never goes into a bread shop, looking for pastry-or vice versa-save for the one baker here, who offers both). St. Pierre has a public library (Bibliotheque) and a large athletic field, where a few intrepid fathers were coaching their sons and daughters, on the finer points of soccer.

Cathedrale de Sacre Coeur

At the waterfront, once mother and daughter left, I encountered a small group of adults and children, having a celebratory gathering of some kind. The adults were putting on Disney character costumes, which fazed the kids not at all. Two boys were chasing one another around the base of the closed lighthouse, and two girls were helping their elders with the costumes. As I left, and prepared to photograph the four cannons that stand in repose, a bit to the north of the lighthouse, a young woman dashed out of a car, marked “St. Pierre et Miquelon”, tripod in hand, set up the device, focused on a vessel in the bay, took her photos and dashed back to the car, speeding off-towards whatever office awaiting her return.

Lighthouse at Havre St. Pierre

I saw quite a few people driving somewhat hurriedly, stopping quickly, dashing out of their cars, doing a brisk errand and then hopping back in the cars and zipping off to whatever was next. Pedestrians, on the other hand, were relaxed and happy, as they made their evening rounds. When I found myself a bit north of Quatre Temps, a lady was glad to offer direction-in both French and English. This will be a fine two-day retourne a France.

Eastbound and Back, Day 14: Universal Mothers

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May 12, 2024, Botwood, NL- Newfoundlanders seem to be fastidious about not mixing strangers at table,in a restaurant- even when the patrons themselves are amenable and there is plenty of space for relative privacy. I noticed this, the last time I was with friends in Grand Bank and again today, at a small cafe in Hampden, a little village between Deer Lake and Grand Falls-Windsor. I found myself seated alone, at a table with eight seats and the hostess steadfastly guarded my space, making a party of four wait until another table had been cleared. I used to be leery of sitting with strangers. Now, if others need a seat and it’s just me at a large table, I invite them to sit.

Anyway, today being Mother’s Day, there were crowds at all three places I took meals: Carriage House, at Glynmill Inn (nice Breakfast Bowl); interesting Crunchy Burger (crispy cod) at Lisa’s Cafe (above-mentioned) and Dannini’s, downstairs from my room at Exploits Inn and Suites, here in Botwood, just east of Grand Falls- Windsor (a bacon grilled cheese, which I brought up here).

Reading another friend’s post on traditions and our need to get together, I thought of all those who deserve honour today: My Mom, who had us all around last weekend, and hopefully saw some family this time; my sister and nieces, all of whom are exemplary stewards of young lives; Penny, who gave the best years of her life to raise our son; Kathy, still giving her all to her sons who are still at home; and all the millions, or billions, of women doing much the same, worldwide. I thought of all the mothers in war zones, and how there will come a day, when they will arise and collectively tell the politicians that no land and no aspiration are worth the sacrifice of their children’s lives.

I am okay, for now, with being on my own on days like this, or even on Father’s Day, because I was raised by people who thought nothing of sacrificing themselves, for my sake and that of my siblings. I was joined, for so many years , by a selfless woman, who gave all she had for her child. I have the privilege of friendship with another woman who lives for the betterment and well-being of her three children.

I have the honour of being treated well, by Mother Earth.

Robert’s Arm, Newfoundland

Oh, it snowed in some places along the way. Here’s a scene that is not far from Glynmill Inn

Eastbound and Back, Day 13: Newfoundland Notes, Part I

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May 11, 2024, Corner Brook-

I was able to add this photo, of sunrise on our approach to Channel-Port aux Basques, earlier today. Then, the WP editor kicked in, and announced that “You have no posts”. That was with regard to the app on my i-Phone. That app will remain unused, until I can get that nonsense straightened out. This is one example of why AI will never replace the human mind. AI is quirky, rigid, inflexible. Humans are quirky, too, and can be inflexible, but can be made to see reason. AI is an eternal toddler. Only an adult can guide it to a place of equanimity.

Anyway, upon getting off the ferry, Sportage and I headed to Alma’s Family Restaurant, in a shopping strip mall, east of downtown. A nice young lady, who appeared to be the owner’s daughter, took my order, in business-like but kind fashion. The breakfast was a bit bland, but filling.

Today was a picture postcard Blue Sky day. The storm that folks on Cape Breton warned about, yesterday, has not reached here, yet. So, I headed east, towards Corner Brook which, as you see above, was my destination, after the inadequate sleep I got on the ride over. There was an added concern: Son had a bout of dehydration and is in hospital. I am prepared to cut this trip short, return to Cape Breton and then make my way to Texas, but so far, Aram and Yunhee are not in need of my presence. I will, nonetheless, be in touch with them each day, until he is recovered. While I was sitting still and dealing with that, a young woman, who had been at the gas pumps at the same time as me, was dealing with what sounded like a serious interpersonal issue. She pulled her car behind mine, and stayed close to me, until she felt better enough to drive off. No words were exchanged between us; she just needed someone who felt trustworthy, for about twenty minutes.

After driving around the Stephenville and Gallants areas (Gallant being my Nana’s family name, that of the ancestors who came from France to the Maritimes, by way of Quebec.), I pulled into Corner Brook.

Lake George, east of Gallants.
North Brook, Gallants

A couple of aborted attempts at finding lodging-“We are waiting for our cleaning crew”; no one in the office ended with my taking a room at the majestic Glynmill Inn.

I also took in a couple of Corner Brook’s finer natural areas: The Bay of Islands is bordered by a heartfelt Rock Art Wall, where people have left mementos of what is in their hearts.

Parents’ worst nightmare.
Bay of Islands

There is also a trail, from Glynmill to downtown. Passing by a small pond, it leads to Corner Brook’s unique City Hall.

So, having managed to reach an understanding with AI, I present you, once again, with photos taken on my i-Phone. Hope all is well on your end.

Eastbound and Back, Day 12, Surprise Ferry Ride

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May 10, 2024, Aboard the Ferry to Port aux Basques- On a hunch, my host and I went to North Sydney, and checked with the Marine Atlantic office, as I had not received a confirmation of my ticket to Newfoundland, only the deduction from my bank account-back in November. We found that, voila, I was on the manifest-but that there was concern that the ferry scheduled for tomorrow is likely to be canceled, due to rough weather. So, I was given a slot on tonight’s ferry.

Fortunately, my car and belongings were only an hour away, at my host’s place in Eskasoni. After going on a couple of other errands, of mercy and sustenance, and visiting with another person who was experiencing family difficulty, I bid farewell to my hosts and headed to the ferry terminal. Two hours later, here I am on en route back to see some other friends made two years ago, and to see what new friends will appear.

A less pleasant surprise is that my i-Phone and this laptop are no longer connected. Maybe it’s a bad USB cord, so I will see if purchasing a new one, on Sunday or Monday, will let me resume sharing photos. Hmm, it is charging the phone, so maybe it’s not the USB cord that’s the problem. Will try again with the USB port itself, on Sunday or Monday. In the meantime, I will continue to take photos of Newfoundland, using the phone camera-and some day be able to share them on this blog site.

Conversations with my hosts today centered more on pastoral responsibilities. How do we help the sick, the troubled, the homeless, to get back on track. Ernie said that, in a severe situation, we must not let the perfect be a barrier to the good and necessary. If some foods are not organic, or not in keeping with someone’s strict diet-let those foods work, in a pinch. He gave the example of Wonder Bread, which he has yet to see become moldy. Since Ernie is an octogenarian, and I’m not, I give his testament a few grains of salt. Those of us who can afford, and do have access to, healthier options should share them when we can. It is often survival, however, that matters most.

In a few hours, we will dock, so now it’s time to nod off and be ready to drive up to Corner Brook, when the time comes.

Eastbound and Back, Day 11: Practical Feet

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May 9, 2024, Whycocomagh- As the master community activist explained his efforts, he referred back to ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s work, during and after World War I and the subsequent outbreak of influenza. No one, Jew, Arab or European, was left out of the food distribution effort, which were dependent on the storehouses He had set up and the fields He had seen be planted, for the very purpose of preventing hunger.

Ernie has spent the past thirty years or so, in establishing a food security system in Eskasoni, a community of Miqmaq (pronounced “Mehkamag”) First Nations people, on the southeast corner of Cape Breton Island. He hit upon this track, both because of his grandfather’s example of providing for those less fortunate and because of the time that he and his wife spent in Boston, where he noted a productive system of Food Banks had been in place.

‘Abdu’l-Baha counseled “walking the mystical path with practical feet”. Ernie was very clear, as I am, that “practical feet” does not mean “materialistic”. The wise use of resources will not leave anyone out and not unduly benefit one person or group to excess. While this has proven elusive, in a great many situations, it is not beyond our capacity as humans to establish an equanimical society.

This first of a two-day consultation on sustainability focused on the system that Ernie and his wife have set up, largely by shopping judiciously, for bargains-mostly in local markets on Cape Breton, but occasionally going to Halifax or Saint John. Being able to buy in bulk, they are better positioned to render strong assistance in hard times. Storage of grains, food dehydration, salting and drying of meat, and canning techniques are also high among this amazing couple’s skill sets.

I look forward to Day 2 of this learning session, which was a serendipitous outcome of the discussion around the 50th anniversary of the founding of Eskasoni’s Baha’i Spiritual Assembly. The intensity of the lessons I am learning are making this visit astonishingly illuminating.

Eastbound and Back, Day 5: Adventures in a State of Flux

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May 3, 2024, Shelburne Falls, MA- Three of us wound up and down the curves and dips of State Highway 2, going along the slopes of Mount Greylock, this state’s highest peak, and its neighbouring ridges. I once hiked up the mountain, and camped there overnight, waking to the cheerful sound of four prom-goers, on the morning after their big event. The kids from nearby Poesten Kill, NY, were curious about my experiences-the girls wondering why I was up there alone. Why was I shy? Where was my girfriend? (I had no one in my life, at that moment, in 1975.) Such is the exuberance of people in the bubble of one of the finest times in anyone’s life: The senior year of high school.

The lead vehicle’s driver chose to keep us other two drivers set at 25-40 mph, fine for the bulk of the drive’s curves and double-yellow lines, at least for me. The guy in the middle, though, had enough of the double yellow, and of the lead driver’s caution, and so pulled out and around, double yellow be durned. It was not his time to go, fortunately, and since it definitely was not my time, either, I stayed behind the lead driver-until I came upon Red Rose Motel, here in this lovely little village, in the Berkshires, north of Amherst. By this time, another antsy driver was behind me, following a tad too close, but as luck would have it, there was a large pull-off area, half a mile further, where I was able to ditch the tailgater, and make a U-turn, getting back to this quiet haven.

My principle concern, for the past week, has been the state of my mother’s health. She is stable, mind you, and will hopefully be in good spirits, when at least two of her four children are in her room, tomorrow afternoon, and a good part of Sunday. What happens next week will depend entirely on what I find, when I get to her side. There is, at present, a Plan A, largely already scheduled, that will take me up through Maine and New Brunswick, to the Eskasoni area of Cape Breton and on to Newfoundland/St. Pierre & Miquelon, for two weeks or so, but we’ll see what lies in store.

Today was a rather quiet drive, lovely but uneventful. It was an introduction to the windingness of the upper Susquehanna, from Lock Haven, PA to the Chemung region of New York’s Southern Tier. There is much beauty on both sides of the bi-state area, but as I have hinted earlier, this is not a photo-intensive experience, unless and until I get up to Canada. There were few stops today. After leaving the Motel 6, in Clarion, a small snack stop at a Sheetz, in Mansfield, PA and a couple of rest areas along the Southern Tier were my only breaks. Plaza Diner, a pleasant little establishment, on the east side of Oneonta, was my dinner break-with two tasty, ample crab cakes and a full plate from the salad bar, accompanied by creamy but nondescript macaroni and cheese. The place was convivial, and I would stop there again, if I find myself in Oneonta. Albany and Troy, further along were both bustling and lively, on the Friday night, but I kept going. It seems that, with colleges and universities prepping for graduation, there was no room at the inns. (Once I got here, to Red Rose, my host, Aldo, said it was like that all over Amherst, as well. I got a nice room, at a discounted rate, so no matter.)

It will be good to be back with family for a bit, no matter the circumstances. Mother has raised and treated us well.

Eastbound and Back, Day 4: Making the Time

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May 2, 2024, Clarion, PA- The housekeeper rapped on the door, ever so lightly. “Mister, it is time. You must check out!” Yes, it was indeed 11 a.m., and she probably had fifteen rooms to clean, in four hours, or something along those lines. I did want to get going, as well, so the last post I was writing, before this one, was set aside, until I could get to a coffee house, in downtown Goshen, and everything was put carefully in the right bags and brought to Sportage- in three minutes’ time. The Super 8 was in good repair and she gave me a clean room, last night, so I’ll not quibble.

As I drove along Main Street, Goshen, looking for a parking spot-Voila, there it was, on the other side of the street-and right in front of the recommended coffee house. As I signaled a left turn, into the space went the oncoming vehicle. Hmmm- no sense getting annoyed, so I turned left onto the next side street-and, there was Electric Brew, which bills itself as “Goshen’s original coffee house”. I found a spot, right in front of it, so grace given was grace returned. I don’t know about the other place, but Electric Brew is an excellent coffee house/deli, with a most congenial and helpful team of baristas and servers. I was able to easily finish and post about the Twelfth Day of Ridvan.

The day continued, into and across Ohio, with plenty of opportunities to make people feel seen and heard. Mostly, it was a matter of holding doors open for those coming through, or coming in behind me. I thrive on not being anonymous or invisible, so I am sure other people are largely the same.

There wasn’t much else going on, in this very familiar portion of the trip, but I changed the route just a little-going on I-80, in stead of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. That led me to another Motel 6, this one a bit more upscale, in amenities, though not in price. I had the pleasure of dining at Cozumel Authentic Mexican Restaurant-and found it as good as many such places in the Southwest. It isn’t often that Motel 6 even has an eatery in the same building-but there we are. The room I scored is huge-spare, but with a fine bed, and HUGE.

I find it always pays to make the time for doing things carefully-big or small.

Eastward Bound and Back, Day 1: Towers of Power

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April 29, 2024, Miami, OK– He stood with his feet planted firmly on the floor, arms forcefully at his side, clutching two bottles of Gatorade, jaw set and eyes blazing-with the unspoken message: “Just TRY and take one of these from me.” His father had his back. The future force of nature is four years old, one of the faces of the Texas that is yet to rise.

Father and son were just two of the faces of strength, the towers of power, I encountered on this day of passing through three states. Glenn, the baker, was at his craft, producing, among other delectables, some of the finest breakfast burritos in all New Mexico-if not in the entire Southwest. His red burritos got me off to a good start, this morning.

In the small eastern New Mexico settlement of Milagro, an earnest woman staffed the thriving gas station/convenience market that two friends started, about eight years ago. She was grateful that the Filipina co-owner had filled the windshield cleaner tanks, as it was still a bit nippy there, in late morning. I am glad to see the young couple, who I met in those early days of their enterprise, are doing so well.

My buddy, Wes, in Amarillo, was not available for anything other than a comment. That, being that he was stuck at home. So our lunch in the Fun Zone (Old 66) will wait until five weeks from now. He’s the T-shirt king of the Panhandle, among other things, but that’s a story for another day. One of my cousins, in southwest Missouri, will be doing God’s work, teaching middle schoolers, as I pass through that area, tomorrow, so no meeting with her, either.

In Massachusetts, Mom is holding her own, so my visit with her, this weekend will proceed as planned. Any strength of character I have comes from my parents. My siblings are keeping me posted, on her day-to-day. They, too, are towers of power.

At the Conoco, in Shamrock, the little man stood his ground, and eyed me as I was leaving the store, with a ferocity that seldom have I seen from one so young. I hope he holds onto that determination. There is much that will challenge his grit, far more than this aging wanderer ever will.

Three ladies staffed the toll booths along the Oklahoma Turnpike, each taking the time to note that, in two days, their jobs will pretty much become obsolete, as the system goes electronic on May 1. They will go on to other duties for the Turnpike, probably monitoring glitches in the system-which are bound to happen, at least initially.

So, it is that I reflect back on a day spent going through familiar turf, and take my rest in this comfortable room at Deluxe Inn. Tomorrow will no doubt mean more encounters with towers of power.

Dharma Sunset

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April 27, 2024, Paulden, AZ- “You’re spirit IS you!”, the 5-year-old boy opined, as we were talking about whether we lived forever. I had just noted that my body would be gone some day, but my spirit would live on. His reply showed that he already knew that we would continue to live on.

He has named himself Sunset, and his parents are going with it. Their overarching concern is that each of their five children, and possibly a sixth, will grow to their maximum potential and on each child’s own terms. So far, what I have seen is an amazing group of strong humans, loving and nurturing with one another-and learning from their mistakes, without accumulating baggage.

It had been three years since I last visited the little bit of heaven that its residents call Dharma Farm. Most of my absence had more to do with scheduling-mine and the family’s. Tonight, though, we were in sync, the older girls preparing a simple meal and the younger siblings, including Sunset, enjoying the two exercise balls which I have given the family, rather than have the balls just sit in my bedroom and be used infrequently. I walked around the farm with the father, noting changes he and his wife have made on the property, since my last visit. Several more trees have been planted and are thriving. A couple of buildings, including a greenhouse, have been added. So, too, has a lonely young girl come to be a regular part of the family and two other, wonderful women and their children settled in.

The place continues to be a haven-and another woman, earlier today, at a different location, musing about how delightful it was to see happy children, would have been thrilled to have been here. The secret to all this is that the couple is committed to both raising their children holistically and teaching thriving skills (on a permaculture model) at the local community school, as well as in a home schooling co-operative.

Sunset will continue to burn brightly, and so will the rest of his family. Below, are two scenes of his inspiration.

I won’t be absent from here for quite so long, going forward.

Diligencia

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April 25, 2024- The rain came down in buckets, ending three weeks of dryness and keeping the fire danger down for another month or so. I had a room full of Kindergarten English-language learners, who noted that it was raining-again (“Otra vez”) and they hadn’t been out all day. They continued to work on their foldable stories, we read them, they highlighted their sight words, the first letter of each sentence and the punctuation mark at the end of each sentence-and then we played. They built little “forts”, by moving chairs and cushion pillows, while a timer counted down. When the time ran out, the screen said “Poof”, and the hamburger on the screen disappeared. Then the kids did-actually, just going back to their classrooms, after putting everything back.

The others, first and second graders, were equally diligent. Even those, especially those, who had minimal competency in English, applied themselves to their tasks with a drive that people in high school would do well to emulate. They let no time elapse, when finished with one task, before asking what was next, and diving right into it.

That made me think. What happens in the lives of children to turn a hard worker into a dodger, a slacker? Some who go through a slacking phase, and then get their bearings and turn into productive adults, can say it was due to the adults in their lives being alternately overbearing and overindulgent. Others gave in to peer pressure, and others were just testing the limits. In the end, though, those who’ve turned themselves around have looked back at the real “good old days”, when their classmates and they were getting satisfaction from learning, going home to parents who were genuinely proud of their achievements.

The fog of insolence can sink in as early as 7-years of age (I saw one, a scowl on his face, as he waited for his teacher to open the classroom door, while my students and I were walking towards the ELL room). It will likely take a lot of diligence, on the part of educators and social service professionals, to turn his life around. Such a shame. The high achievers will walk on past him, but the smartest among them will stop, turn around and hold out a caring and insistent hand.

Viva diligencia!